


Great Fay, Heal This Affliction

by Elkiey



Series: My Whumptober 2020 ~~☆ [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred be kinda sus, Ambiguous/Open Ending, America Being an Asshole (Hetalia), Blood, Day 15 Magical Healing, Gen, Magic, Unsafe Magical Practices, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27006808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elkiey/pseuds/Elkiey
Summary: Whumptober Day 15 - Magical Healing - It's never a good idea to work magic you're not good at, especially when under pressure.
Series: My Whumptober 2020 ~~☆ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980466
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Great Fay, Heal This Affliction

The October air was chilly and crisp, and it cut through Alfred’s coat like a knife. He could see his ragged breath in the air. The cold stung his already numbing arm, the heavily bleeding wound exposed. He grabbed it with his unhurt hand and looked around the street. God _ ,  _ Arthur lived in the most out-of-the-way, soccer mom community. It was midday, but luckily nobody seemed to be out.  _ Probably because of the cold _ , Alfred figured. 

Not wanting to be seen, he quickly darted up the stairs to Arthur’s house and knocked. When the Brit didn’t respond, he knocked again, harder.

“God, I’m a busy man, you know!” Came the response, quietly from inside. Then, louder, as though the first part wasn’t intended to be heard, “Coming!” 

There was the quick ruffle of paper, something glass fell, followed by a curse, and then the stomping of shoes. Finally, the door opened, and Arthur appeared at its frame, looking no less than overworked. When he saw Alfred, however, that weariness evaporated.

“Good Heavens, Alfred, what have you gotten yourself into? You’re all bloodied up!”

Alfred laughed, stumbling into the house, “Tell me something I don’t know. And close the door, will you? I’d rather not have anyone know that I’m here. Anyway, I need some of your voodoo hex magic thingy for my arm.”

Arthur crossed his arms irritatedly. “It’s  _ wizardry _ . And who says you can waltz right into my house, covered in blood, and tell me to magic you better!” Alfred whistled and began making his way to the basement, but Arthur cut him off. “Why the bloody hell are you covered in blood anyway.”

“Was shot.” Was the American’s abrupt response. Alfred pushed past Arthur and made his way downstairs. 

Arthur followed him. “And why, exactly, were you shot?”

“That’s not important.”

He sighed, “Alfred, if I have suspicious, mafia-looking men showing up at my door-”

Alfred stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning, “If you do this quickly and quietly, then that won’t be the case.” He took a few steps out into the main room, stopped, then said, “If they do show up, try bribing them. That usually works.”

The basement was clustered- books, magic objects, and potions filled most of the floor and the walls. In the middle was a space laid out for seances, candles and paint still present. Alfred was exploring the outskirts, inspecting the room’s contents. He reached out to grab one, but Arthur grabbed his arm. “ _ Don’t touch anything _ ” he hissed. 

Alfred huffed, favoring now to look around the room. “So what do I do? Stand inside that scary circle thingy as you chant in Latin or whatever?”

Arthur headed over to the corner and grabbed some books, exposing the chair they had been placed on. “Just sit here. If you don’t mind, I’m going to have to see the wound, so take off your jacket.”

Alfred slowly sat down, testing the chair. It was wooden, creaky, and dusty, as though it weren’t meant to hold much more than the books. He took off his jacket and then his dress shirt. They were both dirtied from the blood, not to mention ripped.

After a moment, Arthur came back with another book open. He examined the American’s arm, where the bullet had grazed him, then stepped back, looking hesitant. Alfred’s eyes slanted, “What is it?”

“Well, it’s just that this isn’t my type of magic. I usually do summonings, like ghosts and demons and whatnot. Healing’s not my thing, and it’s not normally a good idea to work magic that you don’t know on people. Once you start, you can’t stop.”

“Dude, it’s a grazed arm. Just wing it.”

“I can’t-” The look Alfred gave him cut him off. The Brit sighed, “Fine.”

Arthur moved his hand over Alfred’s arm slowly until he felt the wound, making the American flinch. He stopped, then began chanting. 

“ _ Bresne pûcel râd sê onhæle, _ ” 

Pain instantly flared through the American, worse than anything he has ever felt. All the nerves in his arm were going off. He felt as though it was going to be ripped off.

“ _...behealdnes ðe ðræstung. _ ”

Alfred screamed and flailed, instinct telling him to get out. His vision had gone white, but he could still hear Arthur’s voice clearly. It was in his head, clear and loud, it was everything.

“ _ Forsendan bufan _ -”

Suddenly, it stopped. Everything stopped. The voice, the pain. Alfred was breathing heavily. He could hear Arthur calling his name, but it felt far away, like it was unreal. 

“Alfred, dear Heavens, are you okay? I stopped the spell....”

Alfred blinked, clearing his head, getting himself together. “Dude, keep going. I’m going to need my arm, yeah? Besides, you yourself said you can’t stop. Start up the spell again before anything bad happens.”

Arthur stuttered, but continued without question,  _ “e-êower fyrmest su of forma... _ ” __

The pain flared up again, but this time Alfred was prepared. He bit his lip and sucked it up.

“ _...l¯æce ûtâðýdan hrepian sê lîcwund. _ ”


End file.
